


Out On Lovers' Lake

by AngelicEclair



Series: Final Girl [3]
Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies)
Genre: Erotic Horror, F/M, Horror, slashers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23743084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicEclair/pseuds/AngelicEclair
Summary: The Reader is on a trip with a group of friends up the east cost, with their destination being Maine, but they want to spend a night in the infamous Camp Crystal Lake, the site of many grisly murders and a phantom slasher by the name of Jason Voorhees.
Relationships: Jason Voorhees/Original Female Character(s), Jason Voorhees/You
Series: Final Girl [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1674658
Comments: 4
Kudos: 171





	Out On Lovers' Lake

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not read or comment if you are offended by horror elements or writing smut about slashers! Thank you so much!

It was spring break, the highly anticipated intermission from stultifying classwork to make terrible decisions in the sunshine.

(Y/N) was packed in a car with four other girls - Olive, Willow, Delilah, and Sam - on a road trip up the east coast. They were making their way up to Maine, stopping at all the scenic areas, sleeping at rest stops, musty hostiles, showering at the YMCAs, and camping deep in the woods off the beaten trail. They were looking forward to Maine's rocky shores, the granite and spruce islands of Acadia National Park, the dusty logging roads with abandoned 1920s train cars, the largest botanical gardens in New England, and the lighthouses and lobster shacks dotting the coast.

But they were miles away from their destination, in New Jersey, more specifically, the small town of Crystal Lake. According to Sam's moth-eaten map, it was located in the Packanack Lake Region. The lake itself stretched from Higgins Haven in the north to Crystal Point in the southwest. The main attraction was the infamous campsite at its heart.

Camp Crystal Lake wasn't one of those massive, well-financed places with a fleet of paddle boats, a paddock of livestock for feeding, or a corral full of horses. It was just a small family-owned business, cheap to run, affordable to attend. It was only a few cabins nestled in the pine trees on a lakeshore, where lower-income families could afford to send their children for a short vacation. Fresh air and outdoor activities for the kids, and a few weeks armistice for the parents. Though it hadn't been in operation for years, young people like (Y/N) and her friends, swooped in from miles away, beguiled by the promise of seeing proof of the paranormal in one form or another. There had been rumors of cryptids like Bigfoot and creatures like those spotted in Fresno. Websites were never consistent in what had been seen. 

Delilah finished her heated debate with Willow over whether ergot poisoning led to the Salem witch hysteria and promptly began digging in her bag for something. She pulled out a crinkled, yellow tourist pamphlet that looked like it was splashed with coffee. 

"Since you seem to believe everything you see, here." Delilah forced the brochure towards Willow. "My mom snagged one of these from a neighborhood kid when she used to live up here."

"'Camp Blood'?" Willow cocked a brow at the name written in a big, bold, bleeding font.

"It's what locals started calling Camp Crystal Lake after the murders."

"Wait, wait, wait. _Murders_?" Sam laughed humorlessly as she glanced up from the road ahead and eyed Delilah from the rear-view mirror. 

"You _really_ don't know the story?" Olive asked in disbelief. 

"I _really_ don't."

(Y/N) hadn't heard the stories either, but she didn't speak up. Instead, she peered out the window at the racing foliage and listened.

"The saddest thing happened. I think it was in 1957 or 1958. Anyway, there was this little boy named Jason...his mom worked as a cook at the camp or something. His mom did the best she could to protect him while she was around, but she had to leave him to the counselors to go make meals for about fifty kids. 

Olive sighed, her kinky hair bouncing as she shook her head.

"He just wanted to be liked any other boy at summer camp, but kids can be awful. Just because he was different, they let him drown in the middle of the lake. The counselors didn't hear him screaming or splashing, because they were too busy...fucking around."

(Y/N) imagined how terrified the little boy must have been - plunging beneath the surface of the freezing water, frantically kicking his legs, feet touching nothing, the dreadful uncertainty of the rancid lake water, the stinging darkness swallowing him as his lungs gave out. Ringing and then searing silence.

She imagined his mother in the camp's kitchen, scrubbing countertops as her son thrashed weakly as water ballooned his lungs, unbeknown to her.

"His mom got her revenge. All but one girl died, and she ended up killing Jason's mom on the shore of the same lake where her son had drowned."

Olive grinned mischievously. 

"And somehow, he came back. Reborn to avenge his mom and kill anyone who stepped foot on his turf again, or something."

"Hah-ha- _ha_ , very clever, Oli." Sam snorted from the driver's seat. "But why didn't you save that one for when we got around the campfire. Kinda loses its effectiveness in a car in the middle of the day, don't ya think?"

"So, you're saying he's a zombie. You believe in zombies, _Miss Biology Major_?" Delilah asked Olive wryly.

(Y/N) tuned the girls out as they began to argue the possibilities and technicalities of it all. (Y/N) shook her head and looked out the window again. She knew Jason-the-zombie didn't exist, she just hoped Jason-the-child never lived, never met that fate.

He was no more plausible than Bigfoot or the Fresno Nightcrawler.

However, even (Y/N) had to admit, there was nothing quite like a good urban legend. A myth, to speak plainly, to me, is like a menu in a fancy French restaurant: glamorous, complicated camouflage for a fact you wouldn't otherwise swallow. The group was buzzing with eagerness to take refuge under the shuddering canopies of the forest and see for themselves if the legend of 'Camp Blood' were true.

The somberness of the retelling was dissipated with a mock spat, then laughter over everything - the names of backroads, zany roadside attractions, the mini museums. Jason even faded into the depths of (Y/N) 's mind.

They zipped down the lonely stretches of road, drinking cherry cola and belting out oldies their parents used to sing, completely free of worry. They blurred past Joey B.'s, a popular hangout, apartments, and houses in town until the businesses turned into countryside cabins and lakeshore dwellings.

The burnished rays of the setting sun flamed glory on the clouds of the western sky before shattering in gold and vermilion dapples on the darkening waters of the river.

Tents, tarps, poles, stakes, sleeping bags, backpacks, flashlights, snacks. Check. (Y/N) tugged on her rucksack and joined the group of girls waiting for her at the trailhead. 

"Are you sure we're not taking too much? We're only staying a night, but we've got enough moleskin to protect the heels of an entire army." Olive moaned, her shoulders already slumping under the pressure of her over-filled rucksack. 

Willow was fanning the cloud of gnats away from her face. "This feels like a lousy cliche: five spring-breakers exploring Camp Blood, looking for its resident zombie."

"Hey, listen. I got us covered." Sam snickered, whipping her butterfly knife out of her pocket and twirling it around with a wink.

"Oh, thank God." Willow gasped in pseudo-relief as the group entered the twisted woods **.** Everything was gnarled, bowed, and mossy.

How long had it been since people had been through last?

Everything looked frighteningly overgrown and unexplored. The path was nearly covered up by matted grass and wildflowers. (Y/N) scanned her surroundings, taking note of where they were and where they were heading while everyone else was preoccupied with goofing off. (Y/N) was beginning to feel like a stick in the mud, but she was just afraid fun would override safety. 

She took a deep breath to settle herself down. It would be okay. The odorous of the pine forest wrapped her up, pine cones cracking beneath her boots like rat skulls, moths flittering around a dying lampost off the side of the "path." Everything was flecked with the invisible dust of moth-wings. Pollen floated on the breeze, making Willow sneeze.

"Ironic that a little pollen makes a tree sneeze." Sam quipped as she clapped Willow over the back.

"Shut up." She murmured as she wiped her nose on her sleeve.

Snorting, (Y/N) looked down to watch her footing on the uneven terrain, her eyes widening as they caught on something.

"Sam, don't step down!" (Y/N) bleated. The wide-eyed blonde balanced on one foot like she was about to step down on a landmine. 

"You almost _smushed_ a snail." (Y/N) said as she sunk down. She scooped the snail up onto a leaf, the golden locket she wore came untucked from beneath her sweater and spun like a pendulum over the damp earth.

She felt eyes on her like hot iron, but she shook it off and raised up to show Sam the spiral shelled-mollusk. She was sure a hundred little animals were watching her from their hiding places; that was what she was feeling.

"Hello, little alien!" Sam wiggled her finger at the snail, accidentally poking it in its eyestalk, both quickly retracting in fear of more prodding. 

"You're gonna get warts for touching it." Willow pursed, always the Negative Nancy.

"I think that's only with toads." Sam mused as she watched (Y/N) deliver the tiny creature to safety on a bed of wet moss.

"You don't get warts from toads. They _do_ pee on you, though." (Y/N) chuckled as she straightened up and brushed the sticky dirt off her hands. Moving along again, (Y/N) felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck raise.

Statuesque, beneath the branches, a faceless form watched her every move. 

She was so much like the princess in the storybooks his Mommy used to read to him, like a youthful Naiad poised in a pavilion of supple green. His pavilion. She was on his grounds, which were sacred to him, but there had to be a reason she entered the grounds. Perhaps his Mommy had sent her from wherever she was.

Her voice was comforting. It hung around her like a silvery aura, like a mist, like a bell that had just rung. Her laughter dispelled all concerns. It had a motherly-quality to it. A tenderness. 

After an hour of struggling to navigate through the rapidly-darkening woods, the girls found a clearing, in what they believed to be the heart, and set up camp, with the expected bellyaching from Willow.

Soon, the fire was popping and cracking as Delilah was talking.

"My Cultural Geography professor is _super_ hot, though, but he's like...three-times older than me."

Sam nearly spat our her gulp of vodka. "Shit!" She cackled and passed the flask to (Y/N), who passed it on to Willow without a second thought.

(Y/N) wasn't having fun. She didn't think it was wise to get drunk in strange woods, in an unfamiliar state, with four equally drunk girls. She also had no exciting stories to share. Every girl provided an escapade or fantasy more steamy than the last, and (Y/N) 's pretended-interest was becoming harder to uphold.

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, just to the dock just down the way." (Y/N) smiled, pointing in the general direction of the dock they had seen earlier.

"Well, be careful and hurry back! You still haven't shared." Sam winked.

(Y/N) nodded and clicked her flashlight on, following a cleft in the greenery towards the lakeside, letting the sloping ground and the sound of nearby water guide her.

"What's up with her?" Delilah asked quietly, but not out of earshot.

The carpet of stiff leaves crunched over Sam's reply, but (Y/N) was sure it was something she probably didn't want to hear.

Branches bent with glorious enthusiasm, like worship beneath the spring song-filled breeze. The moon silvered on one side the leaves, while the shadows grayed the other. Birds and mice rustled in the undergrowth while crickets chirped joyfully under the stars. Everything murmured and whispered. Warm vapors rose up from the earth and blended with the coldness of the night. It felt good to be on her own after days of non-stop contact with the others. She felt smothered.

The wind was whistling. It was like a sound like the faint, distant cry of someone in distress, on the edge of a dream. She shuffled carefully down a weedy hill to the dock. The white hair of the sloshing tide was combed back by the tender night wind.

From her place on the decaying dock, which creaked underfoot, (Y/N) could see the old campground, the cabins all dilapidated, their window shutters, and screen doors swinging and squeaking. It sounded like shrill shrieking. (Y/N) stepped carefully across the rotting planks. She still felt hot-faced from all the sex talk. (Y/N) didn't want to seem melodramatic around her friends, but such discussions made her feel extremely out of place and flustered. She crouched and took a seat on the end of the dock, her feet dangling inches above the murky depths. Looking ahead, she thought she saw a shape move just behind the tree line. Maybe one of the girls followed her and was playing a joke to further perpetuate the cliche of the whole scenario.

(Y/N) called, but there was no answer. 

She gathered herself up and turned to walk back down the dock, watching fireflies pop into view and vanish over and over. Distracted, she yelped when a towering, silent figure stepped out in front of her. His face was concealed by a hockey mask, and mucky water weed covered his whole body. 

Her panic was akin to trying to contain a tidal wave in a teacup.

(Y/N) wanted to scream, but her voice died somewhere in her throat. Her pulse was astonishing. It hammered at a speed too rapid to gauge. The machete he brandished was slashing through the distance between them. (Y/N) screwed her eyes shut in expectance, but the strike never came. Cautiously, she opened her eyes, one by one. The man seemed frozen in place, the holes where his eyes were, were boring into hers. 

She only had a second to shiver.

Then, with the quickness of a cobra, he grabbed her, with one hand clamped over her mouth and his arm hooked around her torso. He dragged a thrashing (Y/N) backward along the water's edge. It was clear he was making his way back to the abandoned camp with her in flailing his arms. 

It was the last thing (Y/N) remembered before awakening, chained inside a nearly-pitch black cabin. The only points of light were a handful of votive candles on a half-collapsed table. She sat up, feeling her head for any apparent wounds before noticing a small pile of fruits and nuts on a handkerchief in front of her. Was that supposed to be her meal? She looked up. She was in a shack, a rusting and battered metal hut on the verge of falling down. 

Clattering alerted her to the corner of the room. Heavy footsteps rattled the mason jars of fruit preserves on the shelves. Her abductor came into the slat of moonlight pouring through the destroyed roof, candlelight flickering against the white, expressionless mask.

(Y/N) began hyperventilating and scampering closer to the wall like a mouse being hissed at by a cat. The masked man crouched to her level as she scrambled on the floor, trying to brute-force the iron cuff off her wrist. The giant fisted an open golden locket into (Y/N) 's face. 

Startled, she jumped back a little before slowly leaning in to analyze. "That looks a lot like my locket. I found it in an antique shop." She quickly looked down at her chest to see if she was still wearing it, or if he was returning it to her. She dipped in to look closer at the tiny, black, and white photo inside. The photo's small subject was scratched out, but there was an inscription beneath in a winding, elegant font:

_Jason_

"Jason. You're _Jason_?"

"But, I thought you..." (Y/N) rewound the story Olive told in the car: A young boy left to drown in the middle of the lake, while the young, dumb camp counselors fooled around. That's all it was. Just a story. It couldn't be real.

_Could it?_

(Y/N) deduced that, no matter if this "Jason" was an imposter, she would go along with him as if it were the "real" him.

"Do you...live out here by yourself?"

His eyes, the slivers peeking out from the black, hammered nails into her chest. Jason only had a hunger for vengeance, to kill for mother, but as he looked down at the innocent young woman, her concerned eyes, her shaking hands, her kind tone, her familiar locket - he felt something tug at his heart and...elsewhere.

His entire body thrummed with a strange energy. 

All of the young people that filtered through the woods were all the same, but she was kind, wholesome. He could tell Mother would approve, but he also hoped Mother wouldn't see. Her special, _special_ boy had urges of his own occasionally. Very rarely, but when he did, he waiting until the nighttime, far off in the woods where Mother couldn't see him. No one but the whispering grass and softness of the lake lapping at the shore.

He wanted to feel her soft skin. It would feel good to hold someone again like he used to hug mother. She smelled faintly sweet, but it wasn't the kind of sweet like Mother. He felt a pull in his loins, a deep, rolling ache. It was affection like he had for Mother, but...different. It felt like how the reckless teen boys that came through looked at the girl they were with. Like they were going to fish the stars right out of their eyes. 

It was a similar feeling to wanted to push a blade into someone, but it's not what Jason wanted, not this time. It was something similar, but different. He had the sudden urge to do what the rowdy teenagers did when they blew through his camp like fire through dry grass. Jason had watched countless bodies rutting against each other, firelight caught in their beads of sweat, making them look like amber studs, but he never entertained the thought of what they were actually doing for too long. But his body was reacting to the girl in front of him entirely on its on! It was scary and shameful, but nagging, demanding to be felt and dealt with. 

Instincts Jason didn't know he had were informing him that he belonged crammed inside (Y/N) as deeply as possible until his ache stopped. 

(Y/N) could see Jason's eyes better as he looked at her more closely. There was a shy sort of wonder in them as they flit between her face, her body, and the wall. Too embarrassed to downright stare but too fascinated not to look. (Y/N) thought this is what bugs must feel like when kids harassed them with magnifying glasses hovering above their puny bodies, threatening to direct sunlight into a beam and burn them.

"You're lonely, huh? Me too." (Y/N) confessed. "I'm not alone, but I feel lonely." Maybe she could appeal to his human nature if there way any left. Perhaps if he could relate to her, he wouldn't harm her. She reached forward and grabbed an acorn in front of her, rolling it in between her thumb and forefinger with a kind smile.

Without a voice, he spoke to her. His very flesh spoke to her and screeched of loneliness.

"Um...Did you bring me these nuts and berries to eat?"

Jason's hand trembled as he reached out to grasp (Y/N) 's shoulder. He tilted his head as he watched her reaction to his fingers trailing down her bare arm. (Y/N) shuddered, but tried to remain neutral. 

"Thank you, Jason." She whispered, trying to reel his attention back in. "Do you want something?" There was no reply, only the sound of frogs, crickets, and the beginning patter of a spring shower, a few raindrops spattering (Y/N) on the forehead, making her jump. She could have been bowled over by a feather.

(Y/N) would come to regret her question when a giant hand began tugging at her shorts. They were quick and needy tugs, but she did not sense malintent behind the forcefulness. Perhaps it was the only way he knew how to be.

"It's okay...You're good. You won't hurt me. You're good." (Y/N) babbled, wondering what she had gotten herself into and why the heat was surging to her core and down her legs in rapid succession. Her heart was hammering painfully in her head.

Jason fisted open (Y/N) 's button and fly before using both hands to rip her shorts down her legs. She shivered but decided not to intervene. He sat back on his knees for a moment before deciding to pull off his yellowed work gloves. It was evident by his noticeable disinclination, it was something he seldom did, and she could see why. Jason's hands were a sickly gray with a bluish-crisscrossed pattern of sunken veins and broken vessels. 

"Jason... you're really..." The lumbering living-dead titled his head to the side like a curious dog. It was then when she noticed his bad eye, heavy-lidded, and exceptionally dull. "...Jason. Jason Voorhees." 

Jason liked the way she sighed out his name with the same delicacy as the warm rain outside. How many years had it been since he had heard someone speak his name without a tone as bitter as nightshade? (Y/N) was just so demure and modest. She didn't at all look to be the type that would berate and abuse.

A deft finger came to slide down the length of her clothed sex, taking an interest and prodding at the wet spot. A jarring wave of heat swept over (Y/N) 's entire body. There was something exceedingly arousing about a gigantic man in a mask, crowding her into a wall, in an old cabin in the woods. It was the danger she craved. The feeling she was too afraid to discuss with the other girls around the campfire. She whimpered and tried to relax into his clumsy touching. 

Jason stiffened and looked concerned at her reaction. 

Was the phantom of Crystal Lake really worried about hurting her? (Y/N) heart began to melt little by little. Jason was equally as intimidating as he was endearing.

"No...It's...okay." (Y/N) breathed as she pulled her panties to the side, reassuring him. Her toes curled as the crispness of the air brought attention to the wetness seeping from in between her legs. He didn't move. His dark, droopy eyes felt like a hot wax stamp against her core as he analyzed her pussy. 

(Y/N) smiled up at him and grabbed his cold, dry hand, bringing it against her needy slit. "Rub right here." She said, demonstrating the tight circles she craved dearly. Jason was definitely a hands-on learner. He swirled his fingertips against (Y/N)'s clit as she continued to hold her panties out of the way. "Good..." She slowly rolled her hips upward to heighten her pleasure. Jason's big, rough fingers were a delicious contrast against her silkiness.

"You can also put them inside to warm me up." (Y/N)'s careful fingers wrapped around two of Jason's and led them down to massage at her weeping hole. "Here. Curl a finger inside."

With great hesitance, Jason sunk a finger inside of (Y/N)'s warm, wet, waiting pussy. She arched at the needed intrusion and grasped his forearm. "Good...Now," She slid her grasp down to his hand and rocked his hand back and forth, the heel of his palm bumping her clit.

"Aaah..."

Her cunt was soaked and making obscene, wet noises with every plunge and retreat of his thick finger. Jason nearly shivered; the suction, sound, and smell of her sex exasperated his own excitement, hardened thinking about how good it would feel to stab his cock into her, but how on earth was someone like him supposed to fit inside somebody so small? So delicate like the tiny purple wildflowers that dappled his forest in the springtime. He had to try and prepare her somehow.

(Y/N) choked out a sob as he crammed a second finger up inside of her. Thunder rumbled in the distance, momentarily masking her surprised squeak. As the pit of her stomach swelled with lava, she felt like she was worlds away from her friends. The woods were further enclosing upon the tiny shack, the wet branches folding in on them. She was swallowed up, and a part of her didn't want to be found. At least not yet.

She leaned forward, getting up on her knees, straddling Jason's arm and gripping his shoulder as he prodded her wetness with curiosity. His fingers plunged in and out, slow but breathtakingly deep. His nearly-black eyes blinked slowly, like how cats blinked lazily to show their affection.

"Oh, Jason..." She mewled as she began undoing his trousers through the distracting pull and push of her walls. She pulled the button up, and the zipper down, smoothing her hand down through the sparse pubic curls to grasp the base of his lukewarm cock. She carefully pulled it up and out of the confines of his dusty, blood-smattered trousers. Jason's cock was daunting, downright frightening, comparable to a soda can. 

"It's...I can't believe how big it is." She mumbled to herself, dumbstruck. Jason's cock twitched in response, making her ears burn, knowing he had heard her. He looked at her so affectionately dazed and gripped her little hand, squeezing it harder around his cock. 

He throbbed hard twice and (Y/N) giggled. "Have you ever done this before, Jason?" He shook his head very slowly.

"Poor thing, I bet you're aching." She cooed. Jason released her hand, allowing her to experimentally run your thumb over the tip to spread around the copious amount of pre-cum dribbling from his slit. Jason's eyes closed, and he buckled. 

(Y/N) stood up, the chain rattling against the rotten wooden boards underfoot and straddled the giant. She sank down to her knees, grabbing his uncovered hand and rested it on her waist as she angled her hips up to drag herself against the underside of his cock, the protruding veins sliding against her clit. It was just their combined heavy panting and the incessant creaking of the wind-battered shack as the rain intensified. 

"Does it feel good?" (Y/N) asked sheepishly.

Jason's shoulders rose and fell quickly as her cunt grazed his sensitive cock. He rocked his hips against her enthusiastically.

"Just do what you want..." (Y/N) breathed. "You can rub yourself against me...You can put it inside me...You deserve anything you want." She cupped his thick neck and rested her forehead against his ghostly mask.

He began to tease himself along her opening, without her guidance, sliding the thick head of his cock torturously up and down your cunt. His length pushed through the wetness. Her walls convulsed around nothing, in eager anticipation of being filled by Jason's considerable girth.

She squeezed her thighs together until they cramped. His head bumped her clit with each thrust, spreading her slickness all over them both. (Y/N) tugged her tank top up with one hand as the other squeezed around Jason's shoulder. She pushed her bra up over her breasts before leaning forward. Her nipples were tingling for friction, and Jason's ragged old jacket provided the ideal roughness. His cold breath fanned over (Y/N)'s neck through the air holes in his hockey mask. His gloved hand kneaded her bare ass brutally, making (Y/N) wince. It only proved to intensify the sweeping acme of pleasured delirium. 

"Oh, Jason, put it inside me, please! Please!" She cried out and twisted against him, quivering, unable to contain her restlessness. Jason rut between (Y/N)'s legs even faster, panting hard and trying to suppress his imminent climax. His hips jerked up off of the floorboards, eyes beginning to roll upwards in euphoria. He laid his head back and hugged her tightly against his chest, with rib-snapping strength. With another jerk, Jason's cock drove into her and stabbed against your cervix. (Y/N) bit into her fist and whimpered. It was a distressingly hot ripping sensation that rendered her tearful and limp. She was so painfully, blissfully full, split open entirely on Jason's cock. It felt remarkably rough and veiny.

"J-Jason..." she whined his name. A guttural groan rumbled from behind the mask. They stayed that way, breathing frantically against each other, both throbbing on the edge of something deadly and glorious.

Interrupting their soul-crumbling connection, a sharp call rang off of the oak trees, it almost sounded like (Y/N) 's name. Then, there was a chorus of voices rising above the rain.

"(Y/N)! Where are you?"

Jason went rigid before sitting up, his eyes becoming sharp once more as the dreaminess washed out of his head. He was peeling himself out of the moment in favor of investigating the new sounds.

"N-No, Jason, please stay! It feels so good. I want you to...fuck me more." (Y/N) whispered shamefully, struggling to rub her clit while being so tightly sandwiched together. She squeezed rapidly around his cock as she rubbed harder and harder.

She heard Sam's voice ripple across the lake once more, praying silently that she would stay put and not investigate further, especially not with her butterfly knife out. She knew Jason would take it as a threat, and there would be no stopping him.

He was so far gone, so close to finally cumming, he listened to her plea and lowered his head back down to the floor. 

They had to be quick, though.

And quick he was, as Jason only managed four quick and brutal thrusts, before cumming deep inside (Y/N). She clenched around him frantically, feeling every pulse of his cock and hot jet of his cum. (Y/N) drool sunk into Jason's jacket as she ground her clit in violent circles. As she felt a gush of cum dribble out of her and down Jason's throbbing cock, her pussy snapped around him, milking him further. 

Her squeal was muffled behind her hand. Hot tears spilled over her fingers, and she drew in a shuddering breath, trying to pull herself back down to earth. The crickets, frogs, and owls spring orchestra faded back into her ears when the ringing subsided. She laid on Jason, the Crystal Lake slasher of legend, in golden, sniveling bliss.

"You did so well, Jason. Thank you..." Warm tenderness surged through her sweat-laden chest. Her nipples were too sensitive as the drug across Jason's mildew-y jacket and pulled her bra and tank top back down. Her head was full of heavy sleepiness as her body was depleted of its last sliver of energy. Jason reluctantly pulled her closer like when he hugged her against him the first time. 

(Y/N) could swear she could hear her slamming heart crack a little. He was so lonely, so starved for attention, praise, and love, whether it be physical or platonic. He couldn't ask for it in words, didn't know how to ask for it in actions, but his eyes plead for it.

'Stay,' they begged.

But, he knew she couldn't stay. He wouldn't doom her to a life in the perpetually dark, damp woods. She belonged in the sunlight. She belonged far from Crystal Lake. So, he sat up, zipped and buttoned his pants, picked her up off of him, and rose to his feet. He dipped down to grab her discarded panties and jean shorts. He stared down at her, shoving her garments towards her, much like he did with his mother's golden locket earlier. She looked up at him wordlessly before climbing to her feet. 

"Thank you." She took her clothes from the hulking man, suddenly feeling a little shy to be bare from the waist down. She shimmied her panties and shorts on in quick succession. When she was fully clothed, Jason fished a rusty key from his pocket and held out his hand.

He was setting her free.

(Y/N) gave him her hand, and Jason unlocked the heavy cuff with the corroded key, letting it drop to the ground with the deafening clatter of the chains. They stood facing each other. The group of girl's calls seemed further away. The leaves whispered, it sounded like the very sound of loneliness. (Y/N) hated to think she would leave the man alone, with only the rustling leaves to keep the thunderous silence at bay. 

(Y/N) looked into Jason's weary eyes and offered a kind but sad smile. No one should have to live like him. She found herself hoping he could die one day and transcend to someplace better, somewhere he could finally rest.

He pulled out the smudged locket from his jacket and held it up. Not quite catching onto the message, (Y/N) shook her head and murmured a quick 'I'm sorry.' 

Jason reached out with his other hand to grasp the identical locket that hung around her swan-like neck. It was then she understood.

"You really want to trade?"

He thrust his mother's locket towards (Y/N). She beamed up graciously as she reached around behind her neck to unhook her necklace. Then, they traded. The swap would not be noticeable to anyone else but them. 

"Thank you, Jason. You're a really sweet man." She rolled up onto her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his mask before backing away from him, backing out of the door, leaving him alone in his shack. She rubbed the golden locket between her thumb and forefinger as she headed back to camp. No one would believe her the ghost of Camp Blood was real, but they didn't have to. She didn't have to tell them in the first place. 


End file.
